Night's Gift
by nescienx
Summary: Night can change the way you look at things. Subtle Legolas/Aragorn hints.


Author's notes: I, sadly, have not read one single lotr book. But I have watched the movie! =D Which is why I omitted a lot of stuff from here so no one knows when and where this scene actually takes place. Still, it is a fanfic, meaning that it probably never took place. Which is why I'm writing it. It's the wee hours of the morning. Which is why I can't seem to talk straight. Go me! This was supposed to be a drabble. But you could say that it evolved to a ficlet. You could say. Because I have no idea what a drabble means and what a ficlet is. My first LotR fan-writing. Be gentle on me? Hah! Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words... *dodges sticks and stones* Fine fine. :grumbles and gets to point:

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Night's Gift

  
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Legolas was not much of a night person. Preferring the daylight, sun, and lively atmosphere to the twilight, darkness and seemingly silent and immobile night. But even as it was night, he still moved with as much ease as he might have in the day. The moon illuminated his path. Allowing him to carefully tread on the craggy, narrow ground to the overhanging formation protruding out of the cliff wall. He steadied himself, looking all around him.

His keen elven eyes had spotted the protruding mass at dusk, when the Fellowship stopped to make camp and rest. The hobbits were not used to that much movement and travelling. Walking. Hobbits preferred calm, stability, lack of dramatic changes, hence they never moved far from their homes. Save Bilbo Baggins, of course.

It would seemed that someone had beaten him to it, to this place that offered solitude and peace.

Pupils narrowed and focused. Under the gossamer moonbeams of the waxing moon in the nightsky, was the silhoutte of a human figure, appearing to be illuminated by a soft sheen of moonlight. He stopped. And nearly stopped breathing too. Enthralled. Enchanted by the mystical sight. Perhaps it was the silence of night- how still everything seemed, that time might have stopped and he not knew it; or the wind that gently played with the other's hair, and then draping a lock of his own hair over his face and tickled his nose; or the way the moonbeams fell on the other, as if casting him in ephemeral beauty. It was so peaceful in the instant of that time, that it gave a ethereal, dream-like quality to his vision.

His eyes must be deceiving him, recognising that person to be... _Aragorn._ Who seemed so rugged in the day, that beauty would not be the first few words that came to mind when describing him. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, bringer of hope. So many things weighed on his shoulders that made themselves known on his face - as lines that etched into his face, but not too deeply. He was sitting, cross-legged, with something clasped within his palms as he looked up to the sky, to the stars that glittered, as if seeking answers. Legolas looked up too, and the stars continued glittering, unable to offer answers, unable to offer anything, but a silent companionship.

He could not intrude on what Aragorn needed most. It would be unfair not to let the man have a moment to himself.

Legolas turned, looking down at the rocky path that curved and led to where the rest were.

"Legolas?"

Legolas glanced over his shoulder. The man was still sitting, but with a hand on the ground and the other on his knee, his body half turned towards the elf. The keen ranger's senses, or elvish senses, that were maybe, what was left of his elven heritage, must have felt his presence.

"I am sorry, mellon, I did not know you were here." Sincerity resonated in his voice.

Aragorn smiled, Legolas' breath caught. The human shook his head. "It is a beautiful view from up here. Come, Legolas. It would be selfish of me to keep this all to myself."

The elf could only oblige.

He chose a flat spot, an arm's length left of Aragorn, who had then decided to lie down, using his cloak as a cushion to his head. Legolas did the same, and as he lay down, his eyes strayed to the figure next to him. Whose eyes were closed and the faint lines disappearing from his peaceful face, like magic. He was almost as beautiful as the evenstar that glowed white in the moonlight, reminding him that he, Aragorn, was like a star himself. Offering guidance. Always there. But unreachable.

Legolas could not look at him anymore, so he stared at the night sky that was scattered with stars. Stars like pieces of diamonds that were so carelessly strewn across a velvet cloth. And the stars did a surprising thing - they calmed his heart greatly, even though he knew that there were many obstacles and much dangers ahead in their journey.

That night was a memorable one; it was a gift of gifts. The night gave him a different angle to view the things that he would never had seen in broad daylight. Of Aragorn. Of hope. And it showed him how the night was so full of life.

So he let sleep claim him. Overcome him. Everything else would have to wait till morning's first light.

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Like it? Hate it? Don't keep me in suspense~ tell me. It's my first lotr fan-stuff remember? The most I can do is get traumatised by flames and never write again! (Kidding.) This writing would probably have sucked if **aingeal** hadn't picked out some typos and grammar mistakes. So... thanks aingeal~! These errors are why I churn out more drawings than writings. Even for LotR. Visit my gallery @ ilmenhin.deviantart.com =) (if you want to, that is, am not forcing you, as will not want to be responsible for false hopes and severe disappointments.)


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